Imperfect
by Spunky Panda
Summary: Lily thinks of James, and wishes he was in love with her, not his illusions of her. A vignette of Lily before James changes.


It wasn't that Lily didn't enjoy humor. In fact, she sought it out. She surrounded herself with people that could amuse her, lift her spirits. Her best friend Lyra spent her life being ridiculous. Jonas, a old boyfriend turned friend, was sarcastic to a fault.

One of the only reasons she hadn't ever really liked Snape was that he had no sense of humor. He completely lacked the ability to laugh at himself. She didn't care that he wasn't the most beautiful man in the world—her view of people's appearance almost totally reflected her view of their personality. She didn't care that he was in Slytherin, and that he would sell her out in a second. The reason that she didn't hang out with him—besides his irrational hatred of her—was that he couldn't take a joke.

With Voldemort on the rise, the stench of death and betrayal rampant, and her sister lost to her forever, Lily searched high and low for little pieces of joy to lighten up her life. She couldn't see the point of living in such a dark world, so she tried to change it.

But James Potter—could that boy not be serious for a second of his life? She loved that he also sought happiness, despite that he derived pleasure from the pain of others. She thought it was marvelous that he didn't find himself trapped in the pressures of unbelievable intelligence. That he cared so deeply for his friends, it really touched her.

But the never-ending jokes and pranks and laughter and fun. It exhausted her. How could someone be joyous every single day?

She knew he wanted her—as if he would let her forget. She probably would have given in and gone out with him years ago, even with the over-inflated ego and random hexings. But Lily did not do things lightly. She didn't date someone unless it was real. Otherwise, why bother? She wouldn't put in the effort if all she got in return was a few shallow kisses and heartbreak.

Heartbreak. She didn't like it so much. She had a wonderful, loving family (despite Petunia's recent hatred), she'd never been hurt by a boy before, and she had great friends. But that didn't stop her from being extremely careful with whom she placed her trust.

But most of all—he never stopped to talk to her. The only words James Potter had ever spoken to her were, "Will you go out with me?" She hated that. Why would he even chase her if he didn't know her? 

She would be the first to admit that she wasn't gorgeous. Not bad looking, just ordinary. She was clever, but with people and emotions and verbal gymnastics, not schoolwork and spells like James. She had struggled to pass Herbology last term, and failed Potions right out.

What had attracted Jonas to her, what endeared her to the teachers, what convinced Lyra to be her best friend was _her_. Her kindness, her unabashed fascination with people and society and stereotypes, her random, off-the-wall, completely strange but insightful comments. The fact that she was constantly singing, despite lacking any talent whatsoever. The connections between objects and things she made in her head, the specialness and meaning she placed in numbers and spoons and shadows and lanterns, bizarre and incomprehensible to everyone but her. That she wasn't self-righteous and indignant, or docile and pliable. That she was totally and completely herself.

James didn't know any of that about her. She hated how he thought he loved her. What he loved the image of her, perfect and beautiful and smart, sugar and spice and everything nice. First of all, she hated how shallow and ignorant of human nature that made him. Secondly, how would she ever live up to the goddess he had in his head? She has so many faults; she couldn't comprehend how he had missed them all. She wanted him to like _her_.

She told this all to Lyra one night. Lyra knew it all, anyway, because Lily was unable to keep her thoughts to herself.

Lyra understood. She always understood. She reassured her, told her she was perfectly imperfect and that James was horribly inept and unsuited for her if he couldn't realize it. And then she wrote his name on a piece of parchment, transfigured it into a orange tree frog, and threw it out the dorm window.

Lily smiled at Lyra, thanked her for listening. Although irregular and erratic, she had a deep, genuine appreciation for the gesture. It pulled her mind from cursory delusions of her personality, and left her in a place of sleep and hope.

A few days later, Lily sat in the common room, listening to the chatter of nearby conversations, unwinding, when James came up to her. 

She looked at him. Here's where he asks her out. Leaves, saddened at her unmoving disapproval of him. And then goes to play with his friends, and ignores her till it's time to ask again. Like she was a daily chore, the epitome of drudgery, keeping him from the fun of torturing innocents and not so innocents.

But he didn't. He just sat next to her with a faint smile. Looked at her, really looked at her. Looked into her eyes so intently she thought he had gone mad.

"Hi, Lily," he said. "How are things?"


End file.
